


My Muse

by Anonymous



Category: Original Work
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 13:47:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14356755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: ʰᵉ ʷᵃˢⁿ'ᵗ ˢᵘʳᵉ ʷʰᵃᵗ ᵈʳᵉʷ ʸᵒᵘ ᵗᵒ ʰⁱᵐ; ᵇᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'ᵗ ᵐᵃᵗᵗᵉʳ ⁿᵒʷ‧ ᵃˡˡ ʰᵉ ⁿᵉᵉᵈᵉᵈ ʷᵃˢ ʰⁱˢ ᵐᵘˢᵉ‧yandere/reader. gender-neutral (they/them pronouns).





	1. ｐｒｏｌｏｕｇｅ

If you were to ask Pax Wang to describe himself in one word, he would reply with “a husk”. That’s why he moved so far away, after all. Away from his parents in Singapore to focus on his art. He lived for art. It was the only thing that made him feel alive, made him feel like he had a purpose. That is, until he met you.

Pax was sitting on a couch looking out the window and sketching the athletes down on the playing field when you walked into the Art Department. It was like you were an angel, smiling down on him from the heavens, blessing him with your beauty. Even though he didn’t believe in a higher power (and, therefore, angels), your beauty and aura could have converted him. At that time, he felt that it was wrong to be so attracted to one’s outer beauty, but in time he came to accept his feelings. He was an artist, a creator and critic of physical beauty, after all. However, there is an intellectual side to art and its beauty. One must consider what the artist meant when honing their craft to such a high level. Thankfully, due to some mutual classes and lectures, Pax soon knew quite a lot about you.

He knew that you liked Prismacolor pencils in the colour “crimson lake” for sketching. He knew you thought Derwent artists’ pens were a slightly cheaper knock-off of Copic markers and were infinitely inferior. He knew that you liked to draw cuddled up in a baby blue mohair blanket. He knew that you, like himself, threw yourself into your art. He knew that you were partial to nectarines and that your dorm room was 44B in the Singleton dormitory (which was luckily his own). In the space of a couple of weeks, he went from admiring your beauty from afar to knowing such things as how you took your tea, your likes and pet peeves. He thought that this was a perfectly reasonable thing to do.

He didn’t once think that following someone around in order to sketch them seemed strange, even though he hadn’t said a word to you. He didn’t think it odd to take photos of them laughing with their friends, or making a cup of tea in the kitchenette, or even taking a nap on one of the bean bags in the Art Department. When he started hanging about on the roof of your mutual dorm, a place he knew you frequented after rough days, he didn’t ask himself any questions as to if this was normal behaviour.

All he wanted was to call you his. You were his most perfect muse.


	2. ｃｈａｐｔｅｒ ｏｎｅ

It was 8:56, and you were late. Where, you might ask? To your favourite class in the entire world. You couldn’t remember a point in time when you hadn’t enjoyed drawing. Some of your first memories were of drawing your guardian. You didn’t know how to draw hands at the time, so you just drew a rather wobbly circle with three lines protruding from it. It was only natural that you would go to art school, even though you didn’t really think you were anything special (your self-esteem was never terribly high). But now, as you walked to Life Drawing, you felt as if this was where you were meant to be.

Pax followed you down the hall, idling at some point so as not to seem suspicious. He knew you were late, which he found odd as this was your favourite class. Regardless, your hair shone in the morning sunlight and your skin glowed. He was so close to you, a thing of such beauty, such passion. How he longed to take you into his arms and never let you go. But he couldn’t, his brain told him, he didn’t know you. He shook away that thought. Of course he knew you. You were his muse. Before he knew it, he was bumping into the back of you. He cursed inwardly for being so clumsy, at least until he realised that you were looking at him. His muse was looking with their gorgeous eyes, and they were looking at him. Fuck, he hasn’t said anything.

“Uh,” you said, gently waving your hand in front of his face. “Hello?”

Shit, now they think I’m a weirdo.

“Sorry for bumping into you!” He gasped, slurring his words together. Then you smiled, and it was as if the sun was shining unto an angel of light. He would capture this moment in his sketchbook later (he had been drawing you so often he no longer needed a reference).

“Hey, it’s okay…?”

“Pax. Pax Wang.” Your eyes widened.

“Wait, you’re the prodigy everyone talks about? I thought he would be some pale-skinned, red-eyed rat thing that spent every waking hour on his art.”

“But you’re…”

“Beautiful.”

If Pax had to pinpoint the time of his death, it would be now.


	3. ｃｈａｐｔｅｒ ｔｗｏ

Pax blushed fervently. His muse thought he was beautiful? He just couldn’t comprehend it. He was so caught up in his feelings of euphoria that he didn’t hear the words “oh my fucking god” slip out of his mouth, nor did he feel himself push your slightly smaller frame to the side before rushing back to his dorm room. What he did know, was that today was the day to skip class.

 

___

 

He was beautiful. You were telling the truth. His golden skin shone when the light hit it, his beautiful deep brown eyes flicked through the world around him looking for beauty. You could tell from your first glance at him that he was someone gifted with deep-rooted aesthetic talents. He was a perfect Adonis. That was, until he opened his (beautifully sculpted, pillowy and silky smooth) mouth to murmur;

 

“Oh my fucking god.”

 

Clearly not recognising his actions to be strange, he pushed you aside with the rough, calloused hands of someone who was dedicated to their craft. You wouldn’t admit it, but your heart bounced wildly in your chest. He was beautiful, yes, but that wasn't what won you over. One glance at his work and you could tell how much passion he had for his art. Unfortunately, you were a little smitten. Little did you know of what was to come.

You were jerked out of your thoughts as Pax dashed off into the winding hallways of the art department. You considered his genius, and decided that no great mind could go without a little silliness, and shrugged it off. Walking to class, your thoughts wandered from him to other things. But while he ran in the opposite direction, Pax could only think of you.

___

He was breathing wildly by the time he reached his dorm. Pax moved in a trance, flailing his limbs as he manoeuvred himself through the mess that was his dorm room. Reaching his bed, he collapsed. Under his eyelids, he dreamt of holding their hand in his. It was all he could think about. The veins in his neck were pumping blood erratically to his head, as well as other places, and a great flush grew up his neck, trickling into his cheeks. He sat up suddenly and made a wild grab for his sketchbook, his special sketchbook that held pictures upon pictures of his muse. He had been getting more adventurous in this respect recently, drawing you with more and more skin exposed... but now was not the time for that. Pax moved his whole body with his pencil strokes, revelling in the emerging forms. He drew your hands, intertwined in an intimate embrace. He couldn't have been happier.

**Author's Note:**

> ʰⁱˢ ᵘˡᵗⁱᵐᵃᵗᵉ ˢᵉᵃʳᶜʰ ʷᵃˢ ᶠᵒʳ ᵃ ᵐᵘˢᵉ‧  
> ʰᵒʷ ˡᵘᶜᵏʸ ʰᵉ ʷᵃˢ ᵗᵒ ᶠⁱⁿᵈ ʸᵒᵘ‧
> 
> also on quotev and wattpad.


End file.
